He saw his sister standing there before him pale and overcome by the harsh words he had used. He was himself ashamed of his outburst. It was so unjust to make poor Emilie atone for the pain that was gnawing at his heart. But he was not in a mood just then for acknowledging himself in the wrong, and, instead of taking in his arms the woman he had so cruelly wounded in her most sensitive parts, he left the room, closing the door behind him with a bang. He snatched up his hat in the ante-room, and from the place where he had left her, trembling with agitation, Emilie could hear him leave the house. The worthy Fresneau, who, after listening in amazement to René's excited accents, had also heard the noise of his departure, now entered the room to learn what had happened. He saw his wife standing there in the semi-darkness like one dead. Seizing her hands, he cried, 'What's the matter?' in such an affectionate tone that she flung her arms round his neck and cried out amidst her sobs: '_Mon ami_--I have no one but you in the world!' She lay there weeping, with her head on her husband's shoulder, whilst the poor fellow scarcely knew whether to curse or bless his brother-in-law, his despair at his wife's grief and his joy at seeing her fly to him for comfort being equally great. 'Come, come,' he said, 'don't be silly. Tell me what has taken place between you.' 'He has no heart, he has no heart,' was all the answer he could get. 'Nonsense, nonsense!' he replied, adding, with that clear-sightedness which true affection brings to the dullest, 'He knows how much you love him, and he abuses his knowledge--that's all!' Whilst Fresneau was consoling Emilie as well as he could, though without getting her to divulge the secret of her quarrel with the poet, the latter was striding along the streets a prey to a fresh attack of that grief which had tortured his soul for the past twenty-four hours. Suzanne had been right in thinking that a voice within him would plead against what he knew--against what he had seen. Who that has loved and been betrayed has not heard that voice which reasons against all reason and bids us hope against all hope? Faith has gone for ever, but how pleased we should be to find ourselves again at the stage of doubt! How regretfully we then recall as some happy period the cruel days when suspicion had not yet grown into horrible and unbearable certainty!